


People can find the good in just about anything but themselves

by a_fuck_it_kind_of_lifestyle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Disaster Dean Winchester, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel is Not Oblivious (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Internalized Homophobia, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, FTM Sam Winchester, Fake Marriage, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Queer Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester is Loved, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, talk of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fuck_it_kind_of_lifestyle/pseuds/a_fuck_it_kind_of_lifestyle
Summary: Sam, Dean, and Cas get a call sending them to a hotel in Indianapolis where whole parties of people have been going missing without a trace. The three check into the hotel and Cas, on a whim, decides to playact like he and Dean are married, but when the whole hotel staff rallies behind "fixing their failing marriage" things get a little out of hand. The fallout brings a lot of buried feelings to the surface, and their ability to get their shit together might just end up being a matter of life or death.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 73





	1. Pilot

Dean’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw the caller ID.

“Donna! How’s my favorite sheriff doing?”

“Oh, what am I, chopped liver?” Jody’s voice came over as grumpy but amused. Dean winced. Speakerphone.

“Thanks for the warning!”

Donna smacked her lips disapprovingly. “You didn’t exactly give me the chance, sweetcheeks,”

Dean had to give her that. “Well, I mean- Jodi, you know-” 

“Oh, unclench, Kathy, I don’t give a fuck. You can’t shake me that easy,” Dean laughed. Sam walked in the kitchen just then and Dean pointed at the phone animatedly. Jody and Donna he mouthed.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he replied, ruly. He would not be outdone in grumpiness, not after being told to unclench. He was the king of unclenching. Okay, maybe he should not say that.

“Less of a pleasure, I’m afraid, more of a creepy-crawly,”

“Oh, why d’ya only call me when there’s a monster on your ass? Makes a guy wonder.”

Donna laughed. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re so good with droppin’ a line. At least Sam calls to check in on me.” 

“Okay, I’m really losing in this conversation. Whatcha got, ladies?”

Sam had gotten a cup of coffee and was crowding him to try and listen in. Dean frowned at him and turned it to speaker. 

“It’s a weird one. Hotel over in Indianapolis, Le Meridien, an entire high school reunion disappeared without a trace. Happened a couple months ago too, that time to a wedding party, a bar mitzvah before that. Folks just check in and-”

“And they never check out.” Jody finished. Dean snorted. She was probably really satisfied with herself for that one. 

“We would be on it like a car bonnet, but Jody and I are already caught up on a case in Montana, a wendigo we think.”

Dean scrunched up his nose. “Gross. Those things are nasty motherfuckers. You stay safe, ya hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too.” 

“You boys be careful.” 

“Alright, bye Donna, bye Jody.” Dean hung up and raised his eyebrows at Sam. “How about it?”

Sam turned his phone around to show Dean what he’d been looking at. It was a beautiful lit up lobby with checkered marble floors and sleek new-age furniture. “Staying someplace with more than one star? I’m sold.” 

“Alright, I’ll get Cas on board and we’ll roll. Thirty at the Impala.” He snatched the coffee mug out of Sam’s hand and took a sip, ignoring the kicked puppy look on his face as he handed it back. “Sleeping in style, Sammy!”

Dean leaned against Cas’s doorway. Cas was sitting at his desk, shoulders hunched over a book and hair sticking up in all kinds of crazy directions. Something about it made Dean smile; it just seemed miraculous that after everything, Castiel the Angel of the Lord was sitting there reading one of his dad’s ratty old lore books. He was for sure gonna get knots from hell by sitting like that, though. 

“Interested in a massage?” Dean said it without thinking about how it would sound. He slipped against the doorway when Cas looked up at him in confusion. “Not sure they’ll have magic fingers, but they might have an honest to god spa. Little bottles of shampoo that don’t smell like year-old weed? If we get really crazy we can skateboard on those suitcase things, Suite Life style.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re saying, Dean.”

Dean shook his head and grinned. “A hunt, doofus. We’re staying in a real ass hotel like real ass people.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, seems like there are two places our vics might have gone missing: the ballroom on the first floor and the empire suite on the top floor. Both rented out for each of the events.”

“Great! So we don’t just get a real hotel, we get the freaking empire suite? Awesome.”

“Well…” Sam stopped him reluctantly. “Actually, I think we should get two rooms. There’s one directly across from the ballroom, so if there’s anything funky going on, we should be able to see from the peephole.”

“Okay, that’s cool, Cas, whaddya think, top or bottom?” He cleared his throat and tried to keep it casual when he clarified, “Floor.” He was really coming up with some winners today.

Sam just managed to stifle a laugh. “Uh, actually man, I think it might be better if you bunk up with Cas on this one. You know, just ‘cause-”

“Because I’m unskilled as a hunter.” Cas said it matter-of-factly, but Dean could hear a hint of hurt in his voice. Trouble was, he agreed.

“I mean, yeah.” He waved off Sam’s exasperated look telling him he was being insensitive. The guy had to hear it. “You’re not, man, I’m sorry. And especially with this one, we gotta blend in around the clock. That’s not exactly your forte, so… Sam’s right, it’s better you stick with me this go-around.”

Dean watched Cas’s face set a little more rigidly in the rearview mirror, and something in his chest tightened. “I understand, it’s okay. I enjoy your company.” He met Dean’s eyes in the mirror. 

Sam cleared his throat. “It’s settled then. You guys take the suite, I’ll take the bottom bunk.”

That was all good and dandy until Dean was practically dragging Cas up past the valet stand. Cas was planting his feet like a kid who didn’t want to get in the pool. He grabbed his wrist and pulled him past the doorman, an older guy who was staring at them like they were strutting their stuff buck naked. Dean glared at him until they'd gone past and he could turn his attention back to the freaking angel statue his best friend had turned into. “Come on, dude,” Dean whispered at him. Cas nodded but steadfastly refused to move his feet of his own accord. Dean knocked on his chest a couple times until he looked him in the eyes. “Just let me do the talking, alright?” He left off the ‘we aren’t even lying that much, just about our names and credit card numbers, stop being a baby’ because even he could admit that was a little bitchy.

The professionally friendly woman working the desk didn’t stop smiling as she watched Dean gently push Cas along by the small of the back. “Hi gentleman! My name’s Tracey, how can I help you?”

Dean put on his million-watt grin and leaned against the counter. “Heya Tracey, my name’s Dean Rodgers. Checking into the empire suite.”

“Of course!” She typed for a minute, took Dean’s credit card, then held up a room key. “So will you be needing one room key or two…?” She looked between Cas and Dean. 

“Uh, two.”

Dean snatched the keys from her and took off pretty quickly, shooting a glance back at Sam. They agreed to settle their stuff in their rooms and meet up to eat and start running ideas, so Dean and Cas headed to the elevator to head up to their floor. He caught Cas staring at him once the doors closed and raised his eyebrows at him.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” 

Dean shrugged and gestured around them. “Look at where we are, man! This elevator’s made of glass and gold and shit, we’re staying in a room with more than one room. This, this is awesome.” He practically skipped down the hall to their room.

“Hey, why don’t you change out of your, you know, tax accountant getup? I packed you some of my clothes,” He threw the bags on the bed and continued on to the bathroom, whistling at the interior. 

Cas unzipped his duffle and poked around. He held up a little tube as Dean came to the doorway smelling the shampoo for the proof of luxury. “What’s this?”

Dean looked at it. “Oh, uh, chapstick,” he fidgeted a little with the bottle. “Your lips are always chapped to hell, figured you needed some.” He set aside the shampoo and clapped his hands together. “Alright feathers, pick an outfit already and let’s get Sam.”

He was too busy not looking at Cas to see the fondly curious look on his face.


	2. Remedial Chaos Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation's coming up short, so Dean and Cas head back to their room, where Cas miiiiight stretch the truth just a little bit. Nah, this won't have any consequences.

After a few hours, Sam shut his book. “Guys, I’m gonna be honest. I’ve got no clue. No monster I’ve ever heard of can make dozens of people disappear all at once.”

“I second that. No fucking clue. No blood, no bodies, no evidence of chomping or demons or a mass freaking hallucination,”

Cas shook his head. “There have been several other group disappearances, but they’re all, as of date, unsolved. Lake Anjikuni, The Sodder Children, Bermuda Triangle.”

Sam leaned forward, an idea worrying its way onto his forehead. “What if it’s a mystery spot, like that one in Florida?” 

Dean frowned at him. “But that was Gabriel.” 

“You never told me about that,” Cas looked at Dean quizzically. Dean shrugged, like it was no big deal, and looked at Sam. Sam’s eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor. “Sam?”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s actually one this time.” He finally pulled himself out of his thoughts and switched to his back-to-business tone. “I’ll look into the history of the land tomorrow, see if anything pops up.”

“Call it a night?” Dean asked hopefully. Cas nodded. Dean offered Sam another beer, but he waved it away.

“Nah, I’m alright-” 

“You gonna go back to the restaurant, maybe find that bartender that was making eyes at you? What was her name…?” Dean waggled his eyebrows at him.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Lucy. And not that it’s any of your business, yeah, I think I will,” He allowed himself a satisfied smirk to match Dean’s grin. “What about you guys? Slumber party and Pretty in Pink?” 

“I don’t know about Feathers, but I’m doing some R&R. Dude, we have a tub the size of friggin’ Jabba the Hutt, it’s awesome,” Dean leaned back, eyes twinkling, and looked at Cas, who just nodded his confirmation, an eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Alright man, I don’t know why you have Jabba the Hutt as a unit of measurement, but whatever makes you happy.” Dean flipped him off with a dopey smile.

“Hey, hey Cas, remind me not to use up all the hot water,” 

Cas tilted his head at him. “Dean, we-”

“Dude! Remind me not to use up all the hot water!”

“Don’t use up all the hot water-”

“Doesn’t exist! There’s always hot water! We’re in a fucking hotel!”

Cas and Dean said their goodbyes (well, Dean’s was a “go get ‘em tiger” and Cas’s was a mutual eyeroll at Dean) and headed out. As soon as they got in the hallway, Dean started up with the hotel talk again, which would have started to wear on Cas, except that he threw an arm around his shoulders as he talked. Something about feeling Dean’s body warmth against him, and the squeeze on his shoulder he’d do with a bad joke, made it alright.

“And look at all the working light bulbs in these lights, and the wallpaper that is not peeling back and showing another even butt-uglier wallpaper underneath it, and this door, this door that takes a stupid plastic card instead of an actual lock-” he paused for a second as he opened the door. “Hey, you wanna order room service? I’m starving. And-” 

“If you comment on the presence of room service, I will smite you.” Dean stuck his tongue out in reply and Cas glared back. “How are you hungry again, we just ate.”

“Uh, yeah, like… three and a half hours ago. I need fuel, Cas, sue me.” His bark didn’t have much bite, and whether that was due to the string of beers he’d had in Sam’s room or the high of hotel-living, Cas wasn’t sure. Cas conceded anyway and called up room service as Dean got in the shower. Apparently he’d decided to leave the bubble bath for another night. Cas could hear him singing loudly even from the living room. Ramblin’ Man. Allman Brothers. He remembered. Dean had taken to quizzing him on every song that played during drives, that is, until Sam couldn’t take it any longer.

The room service arrived while Dean was still in the shower. Cas hesitated before opening the door to a round cheeked woman in a hotel uniform. 

“Hi, I’m Chelsea, I have your room service!” 

“Hi Chelsea. I hope your evening is going well.” 

She paused, not used to people actually treating her like a human being. “Oh! Yeah! I mean, I had this pruning douche splash some spaghetti sauce on me, but other than that, it hasn’t been bad.”

Cas smiled at her. ‘Pruning douche’ sounded like a Winchester-ism. “Well, at least he’s still a pruning douche at the end of the day. I think you win.” 

Chelsea laughed and nodded, then seemed to remember what her job was. “Okay so you’re Mr. Rodgers, right? I don’t wanna get the wrong room… again.” she added quietly.

“Oh, um… yes.” Dean would not be happy to be dragged out of his luxury to sign a tablet. Chelsea double-checked the name before handing it to Cas. 

“Let’s see… Dean?” 

“Oh, no, I-” Cas was interrupted by Dean leaning his entire torso out of the bathroom, still naked and dripping. 

“Where the hell’s the food, Cas, I thought this was supposed to be 5 stars!”

Cas rolled his eyes. “A very nice girl named Chelsea is here already, which you would know if you didn’t live in the bathroom now!” Dean flipped him off and slammed the door.

Cas looked back at Chelsea awkwardly, caught in his own lie. Chelsea only looked surprised for a moment though before she smiled again. “Oh! Got it. Okay, Mr. Rodgers, you can just sign there,” she pointed, “Spouses are allowed to sign for each other, no problem.” 

Cas blinked a couple times. She thought he and Dean were married? Okay, well, given the circumstances, it was a reasonable thing to assume. He had said he was Mr. Rodgers, after all. A reasonable thought crossed his mind before impulse pushed it out. “Of course! Thank you. And ignore my husband, his bark is worse than his bite, especially when he’s hungry.” he went so far as to wink at her, and she giggled. 

“I totally understand.” She took the tablet back and let Cas take the food. He tipped her generously (Dean often got mad at him for stealing his money to tip their servers. He didn’t care.) and wished her a good night before Dean emerged from his paradise.

His t-shirt was sticking to his chest in the places he hadn’t gotten dry, and his hair was spiked all over from the towel. Cas tried not to let his eyes linger too obviously on Dean. He’d learned that whenever Dean noticed him staring it made him fidget and then look away and then distance himself with a joke. It was a reliable formula 

“Takin’ in the view, Data?”

That was not the usual joke. 

Dean grinned widely as Cas’s cheeks turned pink. “No-”

“Damn, quite the fucking spread. I could get used to this. You do this?” He waved a hand at the tablecloth Cas had draped over their small table and stuffed a french fry in his mouth. 

“The flowers came with the meal.” Cas explained. The tablecloth he’d found in the closet, sure, and he had set out the silverware even though Dean got a burger and fries, because it looked nice.

Cas sneaked the occasional fry but mostly just sat back. Dean was halfway through his burger when his eyes caught the clock. “Shit, it’s one?” 

Cas nodded. “Yes, I would have been asleep an hour ago, if somebody hadn’t been singing so loudly.” He raised an eyebrow at him.

Now it was Dean’s turn to look bashful. “Oh, man, I’m-” he blanked. “Wait, are you bullshitting me? You don’t fucking sleep, dick!” He threw his head back and laughed. “I thought angels didn’t have a sense of humor?”

The corners of Cas’s mouth turned up. “What can I say? Sam must have rubbed off on me,” 

Dean glared at him and threw a fry at his head. “Shut up, I’m fucking hilarious.” 

Cas thought back to the act he'd put on for Chelsea, that he and Dean were married. Now that, that was hilarious. Ridiculous.

As soon as Dean fell asleep, Cas snuck out of the room and walked right into doing more hilarious, ridiculous things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for all you impulsive freaks  
> I am you, I love you  
> We're only getting more impulsive from here on out


	3. Foosball and Nocturnal Vigilantism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas takes a stroll around the hotel while Dean sleeps, and he makes a few friends who are very supportive of his troubles with his marriage to his beautiful but distant aeronautical engineer husband, Dean Winchester.

Cas swears that he just went downstairs to fill the time. He usually meditated during the night, sometimes read or researched. But the hotel was nice and the bar’s warm lighting scheme was inviting compared to the bright halls and deserted lobby. The doorman tipped his tap to him, and Cas smiled back. The man felt strangely familiar. Not his gray hair or his official green uniform, but more the feeling when he looked at Cas. It was a feeling that imbued him with certainty that was ancient enough he barely recognized it. If Dean were there, he might say it was “good vibes, man” and laugh at him.

Cas smiled and stopped. Maybe he should go back to the room and check on Dean. It wouldn’t hurt to keep watch over him while he slept, especially with a malevolent force apparently hunting here. And Dean was always so expressive when he slept. Sometimes, if Cas was close, he could hear the murmurs of Dean’s dreams drifting off his thoughts. One time he’d even sensed his own name in Dean’s dreams. It had started his heart beating off off rhythm, and he didn’t even consciously try to listen when he caught a glimpse-

“Cas!” Chelsea’s earnest voice pierced the relative quiet, and Cas looked to see her seated at the lone inhabited table in the lowly-lit bar space. She was seated with three others, two men he recognized as bell-hops and one woman in a maid’s uniform. “Come on over, don’t be shy!” 

Cas abandoned any plans he had of going back to the room and moved to join them. Chelsea dragged a chair between her and a bellhop with an excruciating squeal, and Cas looked around at the other empty tables. “I didn’t think the bar was in operation this late,” he gestured to their drinks.

Chelsea shrugged. “It’s not. But us night crew people, we kinda get to bend that. Not much room service needed in the middle of the night, you know. Well, other than for you and your gorgeous beau.” Cas had almost forgotten. He’d opened his mouth to reply when Chelsea interrupted. “Oh my god, I’m the rudest! Cas, meet Ernesto, Di, and Rock. Everybody, this is Cas, he was my only decent order today; he’s here with his super hot husband.” She turned bright pink. “Oh my gosh, sorry-”

“Oh no, no, he’s very hot.” Cas comforted her graciously. He took a seat and allowed himself to actually ruminate on Dean’s good looks for a moment. Memories came to mind of Dean grinning at him for approval of a one-liner he’d made during a fight, blood still speckling his clothes and face and covered in sweat. Then there was the time the AC went out in the Impala, six hours away from Lebanon in the middle of summer. Dean had stripped out of his shoes and shirt, declaring, “It’s too fucking hot to get service anyway!” and then swore and complained the entire six hours home, and Cas remembered the prominence of his freckles and the way his stomach rolled above his hips. He found Dean prettiest in the rare moments he was allowed peace or simple joys. It made his chest swell with something he didn’t think humans had found an encapsulating name for. “I’m a very lucky man.” 

“Yeah, I was totally freaked out at first, because he-Dean, right?- started yelling asking where the food was, and I thought it was gonna be another Spaghetti Douche situation,” 

“Yes, well, Dean does have a penchant for being difficult; it’s part of his charm.” 

Di laughed. “Yeah, isn’t it always,” 

“What’s he do, your guy?” Rock asked. “Able to afford a place like this, it’s gotta be something fancy,” 

“Maybe Cas here makes the dough, ever thinka that, Rock?” Di challenged.

“Ah no, I’m much more of a… free spirit.” Cas improvised. Another thing Dean would have laughed his ass off at. “Dean is a… engineer. He’s very good with machines.” 

“Hot.”

“What kind of machines?” Ernesto leaned forward interestedly.

“Um… most of them. But his business mainly involves… aeronautical.” Cas pulled the word out of a vague memory of Sam trying to tempt Dean into getting a flight by explaining the exact mechanics of airplanes. It hadn’t worked.

Ernesto whistled. “That’s a tough field.”

“Yeah, that must take up a lot of his time.”

Cas nodded. “Yes, he’s very focused on his work, and he travels a lot.” Well, that much was true. “It’s his life’s passion.” 

“That’s gotta be hard.” Di gave him a sympathetic look. 

“Oh, sometimes,” Cas said noncommittally, looking down. He was beginning to get out of his depth; if Ernesto asked him anything more about aeronautical engineering, he was going to have to start making up words. Maybe Enochian would pass for complicated mechanical processes? But the act was too much fun to stop; they all seemed so interested.

“Oh Cas, I’m so sorry,” Chelsea squeezed his hand. 

“Yeah, man, I can’t imagine,” Rock patted him on the back, and Cas suddenly realized that they’d taken his silence to be unspeakable emotional distress over the state of his marriage.

“Oh, yes, well, that’s why we’re here, actually.” he gave them all a brave face. “I finally just flew out to his job site and told him that he had better show his husband the attention he deserves or get out.” 

“And here you are.” 

“And here we are. I’m really hopeful this time." He thought about Dean's joke about ogling him, just a couple hours ago, about how at ease he seemed sharing his space with Cas. "Dean seems to be more… open with me. We’re still sleeping in separate beds..." Was this laying it on too thick? It wasn't necessary to imply- "but I think by the time we leave here, we’ll be sharing one again.” 

He earned sympathetic glances from all except Di, who seemed almost wistful. “What’s that like? To have a man actually work on things when he promises to? God forbid talk about his feelings,” 

Cas thought about it for a moment, trying to think of himself and Dean in this situation. Truthfully, he tried to get past Dean’s walls most of the time, so that wasn’t too much of a stretch. But to have Dean’s full attention? “It’s akin to the nerves of a soldier on the battlefield, with the ease of drinking a beer in your kitchen. I’ve never felt more important and purposeful than under his gaze.”

“Hot.” Rock repeated.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Mind telling us with less poetry, Casanova? I gotta write this stuff down,” He’d spent enough time around Bobby to know Di was teasing him. He smiled at her and tried.

“Dean is complicated. He hides behind jokes and gruffness, but I can always tell what he’s really thinking from his eyes. It’s just a matter of finding the time when he won’t look away. The moments we really look at each other, it’s like there isn’t anything else.”

Chelsea sighed. “God, to have a love like that.” 

Cas blushed. He was saved from further embarrassing poetry about Dean’s eyes by Ernesto, the saint. “Sorry, tomodachi, it’s about time for our manager to make a sweep. We can’t be caught talking to a guest. Or drinking. Or neglecting our jobs.” 

“Tomodachi?” Rock squinted at him. “Aren’t you Spanish?”

He shrugged. “I like anime.” 

“I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.” Cas helped Chelsea hurriedly hide their glasses behind the bar. 

“Not at all man, we’re always looking for fresh meat on our graveyard breaks,” Rock assured him.

“Yeah,” Ernesto gave him a sly smile. “Anyone who gets these guys’ mouths to stop a second is welcome anytime.” 

“Stop by anytime, blue eyes. I’m an expert at sneaking out on husbands.” She winked and Chelsea smacked her. “I think Ernie should have been the one to get smacked, for the record,” 

Chelsea hurried Cas back to the elevator. “Sorry about my friends,” 

“Oh no, I really liked them.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

Chelsea beamed. “Me too. I’m kind of new around here, they only hired me after the last, well… you’ve heard about the missing people, right?” she lowered her voice for the first time since Cas met her, and he remembered why he was in this hotel in the first place.

“Oh, yes I’ve heard some about them. Very mysterious. Did any of the employees see anything strange those nights? Perhaps they smelled something odd.” Chelsea looked off put; he suspected he had been too direct again. “Mysteries are… a hobby of mine. Um, you know, when I am home all alone, when Dean’s away.” 

She relaxed back into a state of sympathy. “Well, Ernesto did say he’d heard a daytripper say something weird. No smells, but he says he swore he heard dogs barking that night. Like, close. And dogs aren’t allowed in here, so it couldn’t have been. People get jumpy about this kinda stuff, you know?” Footsteps interrupted her and she gasped. “Sorry, I have to go, that must be my manager! This was fun, you should come visit us again, you know, if you ever can’t sleep again. Oh! Here.” She shoved something in his hand and ran away. Cas waited until he was almost to their room before he looked at what she had given him. In case he needed to keep it out of view of the well-surveilled common areas.

It was a certificate for a couple’s chef’s table dinner in the hotel kitchen, and Chelsea had scrawled ‘Mr. and Mr. Dean Rodgers’ in the name blank. Cas stared at the gift for a moment, smiling in spite of himself. This was cover for his investigation, that’s what he was telling himself. An impulsive lie, but just for cover. He slipped the card in his jeans pocket. Something about knowing that small name card included both him and Dean made his heart speed up. But it was just a ridiculous cover. He kept telling himself that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *with significantly less foosball than advertised


	4. Investigative Journalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys' conversation is interrupted by screaming, which happens way too much to them if we're being honest with ourselves. Cas asks for help from an old enemy.

“Yeah, Cas keeps ordering us food like we’re Liberace or something,” Dean leaned back in his chair with a fond smile. But his appreciation for the small luxuries could not distract Sam from the real question.

“Liberace?” Sam raised an eyebrow at him. Dean threw a hand aside.

“I don’t know, like rich bitches living in a hotel suite.” 

Sam rolled his eyes as Cas joined them and handed them each cokes. Dean looked up at him like he’d grown a second head. Or maybe a sixth, didn’t his true form have 5 or something? “Since when do I drink coke?” 

“Since I’m not fueling your destruction of the liver I rebuilt you, not at noon on a Tuesday.” Sam snorted and put his hand up for a high five, which surprisingly Cas returned. Cas had apparently taken their text chain about Dean’s obsessive unhealthy habits to heart.

Dean pouted. “Okay, can we get back to Cas’s midnight meetup with his teenage girlfriend?”

“She’s twenty-three, Dean. And we are in no way romantically involved.”

“You talked about her age?” He asked incredulously.

He blinked at him. “I can see it in her molecular structure.” 

“Guys. What did she say?” 

Cas tore his eyes away from Dean’s to look at Sam. “She said that an employee heard the sound of dogs barking, that night.”

Sam sat in confused silence. “I know right? It doesn’t make sense.” 

“So… hellhounds? What… Are we saying all of these people made deals?”

Cas shook his head. “It can’t be. Some of the victims were only teenagers.”

“Maybe a demon went off the rails?” 

“If he is, he went seriously off the rails.” Sam stood up and crossed the room to find an ancient book with stains all over the cover. “Maybe it’s a mass possession. Nothing saying they didn’t just walk out,”

“Other than no employees, guests, or security cameras seeing anybody coming out of either room after 8?”

“It’s possible.” Cas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think we should talk to the doorman.”

“Johann,” Sam piped up. “I saw his nametag on the way in.” 

Dean glanced at him. “Okay, Sherlock, sounds good. I thought he looked sketchy.” 

“I like him.” 

“Oh you hot for the doorman too, now?” 

“Yes Dean, I’m engaged in a passionate love affair with the middle-aged doorman we silently walked past 18 hours ago.”

Okay it was officially pissing Sam off now. “If it’s not demons, it’s gotta be black dogs, so… hope for demons.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a fat chance in hell if it’s black dogs, who knows what those fuckers do.” 

Both brothers looked to Cas without even meaning to. Cas held up his hands defensively. “I don’t know, either, guys. Do you know about everything that happened everywhere during your lives?” 

Dean sighed and stood up. “Alright, no need to get defensive, fea-”

“Help me, please! Somebody, somebody help!” 

The three exchanged looks. Sam cleared his throat. “Guess that’s our cue.” 

The woman had made it to the lobby by the time they found her, sobbing onto a very nervous bellman’s uniform. Sam got to her first. 

“Ma’am, what’s wrong? What happened?” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and nodded at the bellman. He couldn’t get away fast enough. The woman turned to Sam but kept crying. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“Mallory, Mallory Sinclaire. My husband, he- he-” she broke down again. 

Sam sighed. “Mallory, it’s okay, just start at the beginning. Where were you?” 

“In… In the bathroom of the- the bar,” Sam glanced over to where Dean stood looking (and no doubt listening) on a few feet away and tilted his head in Mallory’s direction. Dean nodded and headed to the bar. “We were, well, you know,” Sam nodded to spare her the embarrassment of saying she was getting freaky with her husband in a hotel bathroom. “And one second everything was fine, but then, there was this sound and everything got really bright and- and- Eddie was just gone!” 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “The sound… was it dogs barking?”

She sniffed and thought. “Maybe? I think, maybe? Why does it matter?” A new round of tears. “Please, we were here to celebrate…. Eddie, he- he just got a promotion, he was so excited, please, you have to-”

Sam nodded sympathetically. Luckily he was spared any actual condolences by the hotel manager who was very eager to take control of the situation. Cas caught up with him after he’d passed her off. “No residual auras, and no one in the lobby saw anyone leave the restaurant or hotel after the woman.” Cas threw a glance back at the wide hotel doors. There was no one in sight. “Johann isn’t here, either,” He sounded almost disappointed to point it out, and Sam seemed equally reluctant to hear it.

“Could’ve just had to pee,” 

“Could have.” 

“Sam!” Lucy ran over to them (well, specifically Sam) and put a hand on his arm. “What the hell?” 

Sam had to agree. “Did you see anything?” 

She quirked her lips. “If you’re asking me if I saw the tipsy-from-bloody-marys stepford couple stumble into the bathroom together, yeah. Couple minutes later, she ran out screaming bloody murder.” She paused and winced with a little helpless amusement in her eye. “Maybe bad wording.” 

“No one followed them into the restroom?” Cas frowned.

Lucy seemed to notice him for the first time. “No, not that I saw.”

Dean joined the group, and Sam had to physically stop his eyes from rolling at the once-over his brother gave Lucy from her long black hair to her black tube top (okay and the cleavage it showed, not like he didn’t have eyes). It was automatic for Dean at this point, as much as saying “I’m fine” to the question “how are you?” was. His eyes flitted over to Sam and Cas. “Got nothing but a scorch mark,” he held up his hand and showed off two fingers covered in some kind of gray powder.

“Ashes?”

“No.” Cas and Dean answered at the same time. 

“I can… tell.” Cas grabbed ahold of Dean’s hand, ignoring the way Dean almost startled away from him, and gently ran his fingertip on Dean’s where he’d smudged the powder. Sometimes watching Cas and Dean interact made Sam feel like he was watching two monkeys who’d been raised among humans discover each other for the first time, and this was one of those instances. Dean looked like he wasn’t sure whether Cas was about to bite off his hand, the rest of his body held completely still. Cas was completely focused on investigating the substance, but he also didn’t let go of Dean’s palm.

“Um…” Sam suddenly realized how weird this all must look to Lucy.

“Remember how we said we didn’t need to talk about some stuff?” he asked awkwardly. 

She raised her eyebrows. “This is one of ‘em?” 

Dean had apparently gotten over Cas touching his hand, because he rejoined the group conversation. “No other exits in the bathroom either, unless whatever brought a Phillips in with ‘em to undo the vent.”

“You went into the women’s room?” Lucy decided to focus on the little things that didn’t make sense first.

Dean swiveled his head to look at her, smirking. “Kinda got bigger problems, don’t ya think?” 

Lucy shrugged. “What do you think happened to him? I mean, not like he actually disappeared into thin air or anything. Do you think the wife did it?”

“It’s always the wife.” Sam repeated off the mantra with a grin, before he noticed Dean and Cas looking at him blankly. “It’s a true crime show thing.” He and Lucy shared knowing smiles that were not appreciated by the other two.

Cas furrowed his brow. “I don’t think it was the wife.” Dean smacked him in the arm.

“Dunno. Guess it’s one for the Scooby Gang.” He dragged Cas away from the couple with a last grin.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cas was officially frustrated. So far all they had was another missing person, no way to narrow their pool of suspects, and a black powdery residue. He blames the frustration on why it took him so long to place the smell of it. 

“Brimstone.” he stopped in his tracks, causing Dean to backtrack. “That’s what it is.”

Dean’s expression instantly tightened as he realized he recognized it too. “Yeah.” 

“I knew I knew. I just couldn’t place it, because it just reminds me of you.” Dean looked more uncomfortable than stricken at the revelation. He didn’t like to be reminded of his time in hell, much less how familiar Cas was with his time in hell. 

“Gee Cas, you say the sweetest things to a gal.” Dean said it with the flattest intonation he could muster. A giggle came from behind them, and they both turned to see Rock beaming at them. 

“Sorry, you two, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he continued his million watt smile despite the aggressively blank looks he was getting from both men, and passed them to go further down the hallway. 

Dean quirked his eyebrows at Cas and Cas shrugged, ducking his head to hide the color in his cheeks. “Okay…” he carried on. “Consult the lore time?” 

Cas nodded. “You go ahead, I’ll join you later.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” 

“If I have to mention my battle experience since the dawn of your species one more-”

“Okay, touchy touchy,” Dean held up his hands in surrender, his good humor back now that he’d annoyed Cas. He rocked on his heels a second too long, just looking at him. “Don’t get eaten by invisible monster brimstone dogs.” 

The corners of Cas’s mouth pulled up. “I would think you would have invented a name for them by now.”

“I do. They’re bitches.” He left with a self-satisfied grin.

Cas did not want to pursue this line of investigation. The only thing that made him do it was the thought of more people dying and the memory of Dean’s grimace at the mention of brimstone. Whatever was doing this was from his darkest memories, and it wouldn’t stop. Cas made his way to the roof before he started to pray. 

He had to sit there for nearly an hour before he heard the stairwell door creak open. He turned to see a face that still haunted his memories and, if he had slept, would surely inhabit his nightmares. 

“Naomi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually getting my shit together and planning a plot? Me? Planning? Plot? Damn. I must be really into this story. I'm really into this story. Thanks for showing up.


	5. Mixology Certification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels are bitches and alcohol's a godsend. And then something else happens.

“Castiel.” Naomi was wearing a meatsuit of an old woman in an atrocious skirt-suit, which was a thousand times more appealing than her true form. She approached Cas with a studious expression. “I did not expect you.” 

“Yes well,” he glared, “I didn’t want to call you, if that makes this less awkward for you.”

She leaned against a large metal cylinder. “I don’t feel awkwardness, Castiel. That is for humans.” The way she spat out the last word made Cas’s fists clench in anger, but her jab still hit him with a swirl of uncertainty. Because he felt the awkwardness.

“I wanted to ask you about this hotel. These disappearances, does heaven know about them?”

“Heaven knows about everything. I know about everything. You should know that by now.” Something in her eyes sent him back to the days and days she’d kept him in that room with only Dean for company. A Dean that kept pleading with him for mercy that he never gave, not once he looked up and saw her cold stare watching.

He pulled himself back from the memory and snorted. “I of all people know how untrue that is, so cut the crap, Naomi. What do you know?” 

Naomi bristled and stood up, eyes flashing angrily. “I? Cut the crap? After everything you’ve done, you call on the help of heaven in the company of your abominations? You’re the one who needs to cut the crap, Castiel! You only have loyalty to heaven when Dean Winchester isn’t around. Why would I help you?”

Castiel gripped the angel blade tucked up his sleeve and gritted his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to run her through, but she wasn’t wrong. “Because this could be big, if it is-”

“Oh, you already know it can’t be demons, Castiel!” She sneered at him. “Or are you too far gone that you can’t even detect devilspawn anymore?” Cas looked down. He had hoped that his senses were just that dull, but the confirmation that it wasn’t demonic meant it had to be something they had never encountered before. It was unsettling, to say the least. He looked back up to see Naomi standing close, her hot breath against his face. “Pick a side, Castiel. But always remember, if you choose the Winchesters? Your time with them, it will be gone in the blink of an eye. They will die or they will leave you, and don’t expect Heaven to pick up your broken pieces.” 

The woman opened her mouth wide. A swirling blue fog escaped her and Cas just had time to catch her before she collapsed to the rooftop.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s not demons.” Cas called out moodily. He slammed the door shut behind him. Dean looked up from his 20th lore book and slammed it shut. 

“How do you know?” 

“Heaven.” 

Dean frowned and stood up. “Gross.”

“Yeah. What do we do now?”

They stared at each other for a second. “Now, we drink.”  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drink they did. Cas ordered liquor by the bottle, which raised the bartender’s eyebrows until Dean passed him a fifty. Lucy stole Sam once they were halfway to trashed. Sam left with an uncharacteristically giddy grin and “We’re gonna, um… go watch Cold Case Files. Be back, uh… later?” 

Dean pouted. “Things are seriously out of balance; Sam has gotten laid like way more than me the past week. Probably ‘cause…” Probably because he had an angel staying in his room and wearing his clothes. Probably because he hadn’t exactly been trying to get anybody in his bed? It would’ve just been too weird, and just hanging out with Cas was… fun. They got to eat and joke and watch trash TV while Dean ate and made jokes and tried to get Cas to break and laugh until Cas threw one back that was actually funny. Cas would give him this goofy smile when he did that, and Dean always looked at it too long, until something in his chest felt too light. Like it was doing now. “‘Cause you…” His eyes flitted across from Cas’s eyes to his lips and back again, he couldn’t help it.

And it’s not like Cas was helping. He kept staring at him too, even more than usual, with that earnestness that made Dean uncomfortable. Eventually a shred of self-awareness pushed its way past the drunken haze and he broke the eye contact. He drained the rest of his whiskey while Cas shrugged his jacket off. “What’re you, what’re you doing?” 

Cas smiled at him like he was five years old. “I’m hot,” 

“Oh,” Dean swallowed and nodded. Now he was just wearing one of Dean’s overshirts all buttoned up. “Seeing you out of your trenchcoat’s weird,” he blurted out.

“Yes, but I like it.” Cas said slowly, looking down at his clothes. “I like...”

“My clothes? What happened to I look like a lumberjack?” Cas shrugged. "You still do. Besides, it's not the clothes. It's just that I'm so used to seeing them on you." "Oh, so you like wearing my clothes." Dean tried to make it a joke but hearing it come out of his mouth made it real. He swore it was getting harder to breathe in here. The idea that Cas felt comforted by his clothes made him feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy. He squeezed his glass and looked for the bartender. “More whiskey!” 

“Know I stole that shirt?” Dean managed to pull back into his regular gruffness. “Swiped it from a Farm and Fleet in Tuscaloosa.”

“A Farm and Fleet?” 

Dean nodded and tapped a finger on Cas’s sleeve. “I think, if you were just a guy, I think you’d be a farmer or somethin’,” Dean slurred. “Not like a big-time farmer or anything, just a little one, sell watermelons on the side of the road…”

“A farmer?” Cas smiled dopily at the idea.

“Maybe you could get those bees you were so nuts about,” 

Cas laughed and it sent a tingle up Dean’s spine. “And what would you be, in this universe?”

“Oh me? Probably… I could be one of those guys that fixes old cars. Restores ‘em, you know? None of that new computer junk, just…” He nodded and took a swig of his drink. “‘d have to borrow a barn, though, I ain’t doin’ that in the sun.”

“Borrow? So, you’d be… you’d be living on the farm too?”

“Well hell yeah, you couldn’t make it without little ole me! Not even in some bizarro-world, you’d, I don’t know, you’d leave the oven on or somethin’” 

Dean got progressively sloppier; he started talking about whatever came to mind, regardless of what Cas said. Sam came back about the time he was really getting heated debating himself about who the best batman was. Cas looked to Sam with silent gratitude.

“Okay nobody’s saying that the best joker wasn’t Heath Ledger, because obviously, but Bale was way too fucking serious!” he wagged a finger at Cas and Sam both. “No, no, Keaton’s the freaking bee’s knees, he got the blue steel and the tights, you gotta, Sammy you can’t forget the tights,” 

Cas turned to him with wide eyes. “He’s been talking about this for half an hour,” he whispered loudly. 

Sam laughed. “Alright, alright, alright,” then he laughed at himself and said it again McConaughey style. Obviously he hadn’t laid off the sauce during his ‘Cold Case Files marathon’ with Lucy. “Let’s get him outta here, come on,” 

Sam hauled Dean up on one side and Cas supported him on the other. “Dunno why youse guys are doing this, ‘m fine,” he giggled. “Youse guys,” Sam and Cas laughed at him until he started yelling, when they got to the lobby and he saw Johann. “Hey, hey you, monster doorman! What are ya, huh? Whaddya do with those people after you take ‘em?” He stumbled over toward the doorman, despite Cas and Sam’s best efforts to steer him… anywhere else. The doorman walked closer too, curiously quiet. Dean was a foot away from him by the time he said “Is it a weird sex thing? I think it’s a weird sex thing.” he turned toward Cas and Sam in a loud whisper. “It’s always a weird sex thing.”

Sam finally got the leverage to shove Dean on a different course. “He… calls everyone a monster when he’s drunk,” he tried to cover. 

“Yes,” Cas added over his shoulder, from where he was holding Dean up. “Yeah, he… uh… sorry,” Okay so maybe Cas wasn’t exactly sober either.

Sam walked them to the elevator. He stopped them before they could get on and frantically said, “You guys, what’s your room number?” 

Cas frowned at him, while Dean mumbled and counted on his fingers. “814,” Cas supplied after a second. “Why?” 

Sam laughed. “Makin’ sure you knew,” 

Dean went quiet once they got into the elevator, just sighing as he leaned all his weight on Cas. Cas had to practically carry him, and Dean started laughing before they got to the end of their floor’s hallway. “Dean, why are you laughing?” Cas mumbled. 

“You’ve got a freckle on your… right here,” he put a finger on a spot below Cas’s collarbone, just visible above his shirt. “I never noticed that one before,”

The corners of Cas’s mouth twitched. “Do you usually notice all my freckles?” 

Dean nodded solemnly. “Mhm. I got a whole chart going and everything.” He giggled at his own joke and looked Cas in the eyes. “Don’t you notice mine?” 

Dean’s brain was all fuzzy and his breathing was heavy, but he leaned in just a little bit closer. Cas stilled. “Dean-”

“No, damnit,” Dean actually sounded like himself again for a minute, rough and serious. “Just let me do this before I can’t do it,” He tried to keep the shake out of his voice. Cas gazed at him for another moment, and he thought he was gonna pull away.

“Okay.” 

Dean only took a beat before he kissed him, gentle and hesitant. He pushed a little closer and put a hand on Cas’s cheek, and he could actually feel his heartbeat in his stomach. He parted his lips and kissed him again, shifting his hand so he could pull Cas closer. Cas let out a little gasp when he opened his mouth in response. Dean allowed himself one messy kiss before he pulled away.

Cas just stared at him, like he always did, except this time his lips were red and wet and it was from kissing him. Him. Dean had to take a couple deep breaths before his head stopped feeling like it was gonna explode. He moved his finger to wipe the spit off the corner of Cas’s mouth and then he kissed him again. 

Except this time, he wasn’t so timid. He kissed Cas deep and long, til he felt a tug in his gut that made him tighten his grip on Cas’s shirt. He wasn’t sure when he worked up the guts to run his tongue along Cas’s lip, but Cas surprised him by licking back into his mouth. He also wasn’t sure who moved them further along the hall, just vaguely aware that they ended up at their door and that Cas reached into his back pocket to take the key out himself. And that Dean’s breath hitched when he did it. 

And he was pretty sure Cas was smug about that.

He kept catching Cas’s eye after they walked in, as he wearily stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, as he climbed into bed. “Cas.” Dean bit his lip and waited for Cas to get the hint. Dean grabbed ahold of him as soon as he got within arm’s reach and pulled him onto the bed into a kiss. He grinned sleepily as he pulled away. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Cas, is it gonna offend you if I pass the fuck out right now?” 

Cas laughed. “No Dean. I’m pretty sure with this level of intoxication and um- I might be able to pass the fuck out right now too.” He was laying down and proving that theory true when Dean snorted smugly. 

“‘And um’... huh.”

And then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know if I have anything to say honestly, this is my second chapter today, just checking in. Let me know what ya think?


	6. Basic Crisis Room Decorum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit happens

Cas woke up alone. 

Waking up was bad enough due to the experience being wholly unfamiliar and more of a vessel gaining mobility than regaining consciousness, but he jolted out of bed with a sense of dread and fear.

He was alone. Dean wasn’t next to him in bed, wasn’t in the next bed over, wasn’t in the bathroom or living room. He was gone. 

Cas yanked his phone out from the pile of his clothes on the floor and jammed his speed dial. Ringing, ringing…

Hard rock rang out from the coffee table. Dean’s phone was here.

Shit. 

He called Sam next.

“Cas?” Sam sounded croaky and tired. 

“Sam. Dean’s gone.” 

“What- what do you mean, he’s gone?” 

“He’s gone, Sam.” Just saying it made Cas’s heart speed up. “His phone is still here.”

“Oh fuck,” he was instantly alert. Cas could hear the rustling on the other end of the line that was no doubt the sound of Sam getting dressed in a hurry. “Okay, okay, just hang on, I’ll be right there.” 

He hung up. Cas sat on the coffee table and impatiently picked at the flowers in a vase he didn’t remember being there yesterday. He waited. And waited. And waited. 

Until a note was slipped under the door.

Cas scrambled up and grabbed the note from the ground. His heart stopped.

'Castiel- Meet me at the pool if you want to keep your friends safe. -Johann'

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	7. Paradigms of Human Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an interlude into Dean's memory, not always a good place to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for homophobia, the f slur (just mentioned), and some good old fashioned internalized shame

Memory is a peculiar thing. Some things stick because you’ll need them. Like Dean’s encyclopedic knowledge of the Impala, or Sam, or the United States Highway System. Led Zeppelin. Every monster he’d ever seen and a few he’d just heard about. Western Movies.

Some things stick because you really don’t want them to.

The night his mom burned on the ceiling.

All the people he’d loved and lost, always too late to save them.

How to rip apart a human soul given a knife and a blowtorch.

Every time he fell for a guy. Every time he’d been told it was wrong to.

Nobody really talked about it much. Sure, the podunk towns had their fair share of homophobic assholes, but Dean tried his best to stay away from civilians, let alone squares. But the times John did drag Sam and Dean into the company of his old marine buddies or hunters, it was throwaway comments. Jabs at Prince and Elton John, throwing a “faggot” around when somebody got slapped around by a monster. “Now I’m not sayin’ anything, just can’t trust a limp wrist to hold a gun, you know?” “I ain’t about to camp out in the woods with a guy who’s gonna be starin’ at my ass the whole time, nah I’ll take the wendigo anyday.” All said with a guffaw and a shoulder nudge that made Dean’s stomach churn.

For the most part, Dean pushed it all down. Denied how he stared at their waiters as much as their waitresses. Ignored how he fantasized about the heroes of his favorite action movies. Pretended he couldn’t remember the wet dreams about boys in his classes. The one time he allowed himself, just a little, he regretted it.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Samantha Marie Winchester!”

Dean jumped up along with Sam. John slammed the door shut, cheap motel hinges shuddering in its frame. He intercepted his sons halfway across the parking lot, ignoring the mild interest of the other shady tenants. Sam gave his brother a questioning look. Dean gave his dad a once over and shook his head, mouthing “not drunk” back. There was no unsteadiness in Dad’s walk, no stale beer smell. 

“Yes, sir?” 

Dean shifted uneasily at Sam’s side. John barely looked at him, totally focused on Sam and his reaction to whatever he was saving in his face. “Want to explain what this is?” 

That’s when Dean realized what he was holding. A skin mag, Dad must’ve found it tucked under the mattress. Two muscley, oiled up men on the cover. Dean froze.

“Christ, Sam, you’re eleven years old, what the hell are you doing?”

“Dad, I don’t know what-” he was trying to get a look at the thing, but John kept flapping it around.

“So it just appeared under your mattress, huh?” 

Sam finally got a look at the magazine, and he went bright red. Dean saw the exact second he put two and two together, sealing his lips closed into a line. The silence stretched out for a second too long and John finally sent an angry glance to Dean as if it was his fault his little sister was into porn. Dean stared at his shoes. 

“I’m sorry, Dad. It’s mine- it.. won’t happen again.”

John looked put off by Sam’s lack of resistance; usually he was contrary just to be contrary to his dad. “Good.” He suddenly seemed to realize that he was standing in the middle of a parking lot yelling at his children about porn. 

He dropped the magazine, intentionally or not in a suspiciously odored puddle. Dean felt Sam look at him, and he set his jaw. He finally, hesitantly met Sam’s eyes. Sam held his gaze. There wasn’t the judgement there that Dean had been expecting to see, just earnesty. Understanding passed between them, and Dean cleared his throat and followed his dad.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sophomore year, he had a crush on Patrick Carlyle, who was, stereotypically, the senior captain of the football team. He smoked weed with him a couple times during lunch, under the bleachers, and he swore Patrick knew. Swore Patrick liked the way Dean stared at him, pretending he was too stoned to focus on anything. Swore Patrick stared back when he looked away. But he left after a month, and he never saw Patrick Carlyle again. 

He could have forgotten about it all, denied it all, maybe, until Lee.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Lee it was different. They’d gone on a few hunts together, and they just… clicked so well. Lee was funny and rough around the edges and so unbelievably warm. He was fearless in ways Dean couldn’t imagine. And every time he smiled at Dean, it made his heart swell up. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t flirting with him, or that Lee wasn’t flirting back, but they were.

And then there were the Henderson triplets, and nothing was really the same after that. Lee and him were more than a little unprepared when the girls started flirting with them, and not just flirting with them individually, but together. And when they’d proposed that they all go back to their room? It wasn’t a question.

It was sweaty and nerve-wracking and exhilarating. Dean tried not to look at Lee at first, tried to focus on the naked girls instead of his friend, but then Lee smacked him in the side, like ‘dude, look at where we are’ and he had. And he grinned at Lee and Lee grinned back and then he gave him a once over. And his whole body started tingling. 

They barely touched until the girls asked them to. They stuck to glancing brushes, but then one girl whispered something about Lee and him and all the girls started giggling. And Lee gave him a look like ‘what the hell’ and kissed him, filthy and slow. 

It was like he was free for the first time in his life. It was still some of the best sex he’d ever had, and that was saying something. The girls were hot as hell and every time Lee touched him Dean felt like he was on fire. Lee’s hand on his cock, on his cheek, on his chest, Lee’s fingers in his mouth, in his ass, Lee’s lips on his. The triplets left after they’d cum (a few times) and Dean and Lee fell back into bed together and passed out, still naked. Lee fell asleep first and Dean wrapped Lee’s arms around him until Lee pulled him in closer and murmured his name into his ear, and then Dean cried. 

And they went back to business as usual, and then the stuff happened with the cult, and they both walked out of there shell-shocked and covered in blood. They looked at each other numbly, and Lee tried to pull Dean in for a hug. 

Dean pulled away.

“Lee, I-”

“That’s how it is, then,” Lee nodded. “Deano, I thought you were braver than that.”

“Lee, you know our lives, what do you-”

Lee grinned easily, but his face betrayed cynicism that Dean had never seen in him before. “Yeah, guess I can’t expect anything with a life like ours.” 

Dean sighed. “Lee…” He didn’t have any explanation. Lee already knew it all. Hell, Lee’s dad had come up with some of the meanest gay jokes he’d ever heard, and hanging around old reclusive, hard-as-nails hunters all the time, he’d heard a few. Gay was a city thing, a civilian thing for sissy boys who grew up sleeping in bed with mommy. 

“Nah, I got it. You’re right,” he sniffed and squeezed Dean’s shoulder, ignored the way Dean flinched away from him. “We should get back, you smell like ass.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’d been over a decade. He’d locked it down. Almost convinced himself of the purely womanizer persona he built, same way he’d almost convinced himself of his arrogance and confidence.

And then he met Cas.


	8. The Psychology of Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward."  
> -Steve Maraboli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for minor internalized bi/homophobia, a couple uses of the word queer

Sam sprinted up three levels of the parking garage, the elevator being too slow for his nerves, and stopped dead when he saw. 

“Dean!” he called from the place between his knees where he was trying to catch his breath. Fuck, he was too old for this. He stood up, heaving, as Dean got out of the car, an annoyed quirk on his lips.

“What?”

“What?” Sam repeated sarcastically. “What the fuck, Dean? You just fucking disappeared? Left your phone? I came up here to get the fucking arsenal!” 

Dean huffed. “Language, Sammy,” he grumbled.

“Lan-” Sam squinted. Dean was leaning warily against the car, and he looked like shit. His hair was screwed up, he was wearing the same wrinkled outfit he’d had on last night, his eyes were red and puffy. Like he’d been crying. “Dean, are you okay?”

Dean crossed his arms and looked down. “I’m fine.”

“Something happened. What happened? Why are you out here?”

Dean shrugged. “I just went for a drive dude, don’t get your boxers in a twist. This place gets claustrophobic.” 

Sam stared. Something was seriously wrong in Dean’s closed off expression. “No...” Sam reached a hand out on a hunch and laid his hand on the metal of the Impala’s hood. “Cold. So why...” he looked inside the car and thanked Dean for his annoyingly meticulous cleaning of the thing. The only thing on the seat, stuffed halfway into the seam of the cushions was- “You’re… is that Dad’s journal?”

Dean shifted defensively. His casual tone didn’t match any of the tense lines of his body language. “Wanted to go through it again, see if we missed anything. I just needed some peace and quiet for once.” he looked pointedly at his brother.

Sam narrowed his eyes and ignored the bait. Pieces were starting to slate together in his head. Dean wasn’t talking about getting away from him. “This is about Cas.” 

Dean barked out a pained laugh. “No, dumbass, this is not-” he rubbed his eyebrow agitatedly. “Can you just leave me alone?”

Sam opened his mouth to keep questioning but faltered. All his previous amusement at the whole Dean-and-Cas situation had smashed down to make a pit in his stomach. “Something happened… with Cas.”

Dean let out a harsh breath. “No-”

“Dean.”

A pause as Dean’s face worked through something, mouth contorting like he was trying to find a way to express it. Finally he sniffed, and it was then that Sam noticed the shine to his eyes. He huffed a scratchy laugh and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sam, do you know the thing I’ve always admired most about you?”

He waited, making Sam sit in the uncomfortable silence. It unnerved Sam more than if he’d started throwing stuff. “No.” 

“You have never-” he stopped.. “Never tried to be somebody you’re not. No matter how hard it got, with Dad, with transitioning, with any of it. It’s like it never once ever occurred to you to… take the easy way out. To just… lie.” Dean looked at him then, lips curled in a bitter smile.

Oh. Here it was. They were finally having the conversation. Sam didn’t say anything. He’d thought about this moment a thousand times throughout the years, thought about the perfect thing to say, but now that it was here, he couldn’t find the words. 

So he laughed. Because Dean’s words were just... ridiculous. Dean looked at him like he’d slapped him across the face. “You think I never thought about it? Man, I thought about it every second of every day growing up. You know how many times I told myself that I could just be fine with being your sister? That none of it meant anything, that it didn’t matter that Dad never taught me any of the, the car stuff, never took me on hunts, never saw me like he saw you.” Jesus he was choked up too, god, old wounds really never fucking healed all the way over. “I tried so hard to be a girl, Dean! And you finally made me realize I couldn’t.”

“When?” his voice was warped in self-loathing. “I spent your whole childhood practically ordering you to keep yourself in Dad’s lines!”

Sam shook his head. How Dean could remember himself in such a cruel light was unbelievable to him. “You remember that time I tried to gank that poltergeist in Nebraska all by myself, when I was like thirteen?”

Dean pulled a face, the memory getting him out of his head for a second. “Yeah, you were a freaking dumbass, you were damn near unconscious by the time I got to you.”

Sam nodded and bit his lip. “I skipped out on my first school dance to do that hunt.”

“Yeah, that Rodney kid was pissed.” Dean would know, he was the one who’d had to turn Rodney away when Sam took off.

Sam crossed his arms. “I didn’t wanna wear that stupid dress,” He felt Dean’s head swivel toward him dramatically.

“Yeah, you know how hard it was to steal that dress from the fucking mall?” he demanded. “I had to date that bitchy blonde salesgirl for like three weeks! All for nothing.”

Sam snorted. “Sorry. Anyway, moving on from your horrific time listening to some teenage girl talk about other peoples’ perms, the point. After you saved my ass-”

“We went and got ice cream.” 

“Yeah, like I was five years old.” Sam grinned, he could still remember how begrudgingly comforted he was by the gesture.

“Hey, everybody likes ice cream.”

“You told me that I was being an idiot.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean sat him down on a table by the road, far enough away from the fluorescent lights of the ice cream joint that none of the other happy customers would hear them. Sam sat up on the table, feet on the bench, mimicking Dean. “Sammy, you’re being a fucking idiot.”

“Gee, Dean,” he snarked back, holding his ice cream cup to the swelled gash still bleeding a little on his cheek. “Don’t pull any punches or anything.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ll start pulling some punches when you stop deserving them, bitch.” Sam relaxed a little, Dean didn’t call him bitch when he was actually mad. “Sam, you’re just a kid.” Sam opened his mouth to protest and Dean didn’t even look over before he held up a hand to silence him. “I know, I know, you’re not a little kid, but Sam, our life ain’t a walk in the park. Tonight, you had a dude show up with a little fucking-” he fought to find the word. “-flower watch that matched your fucking dress, all ready to take you to the school dance. Normal shit. And instead, you ditched him to gank a deranged spirit.”

Sam looked down, stomach turning at the thought of dressing up in tulle and having Rodney look at him like he was some… Molly Ringwald princess or something. “Yeah, I get it. Stupid.”

“No Sam, you don’t.” Dean shook his head. “You’re a kid, just act like a kid. You’re lucky to get the chance.” Sam felt a little bit of guilt; he knew Dean gave up a lot of that stuff to take care of him. “Listen, with what we do all the time, our shelf life is pretty damn short, okay?” Take out the strain in his voice, and those were Dad’s words, no doubt. “So... live it while you can, you know? Go to the dance, join the cheerleading squad, be the freaking prom queen if you want.”

“I don’t.” 

Sam blurted it out before he could think about it, the words having so much more meaning than Dean could know, heart racing. How he didn’t want to be any kind of queen, ever. He was gonna tell him right now, about all of it, he needed to tell him. But how the hell could he make Dean understand-

“Okay, Geek Squad, join the chess team or whatever, I don’t care.” he stood up and tossed his cup at the trash can, missing it by about three feet. Sam stayed where he was. Fear took over. He couldn’t do it. But then he thought about what Dean said. His life was gonna be short and end bloody, he knew Dean was telling the truth about that. So he was gonna live it how he wanted. He would. 

Just… not right now. He wasn’t ready. He jumped off the table and swiped Dean’s cup from the ground so he could throw it away with his own.   
“Hurry up, short stack!”

Sam flipped him off and jogged to catch up. “Shut up, jerk.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That’s the night I decided to come out to you. That’s the night I decided to stop trying to be something I’m not. Dean, you were right. We’re lucky we’ve even gotten this old; you gotta start living your life how you want it. Even when it’s hard.” he said it as gently as he could.

Dean swallowed, nodding. He didn’t look convinced. 

“And letting go of everything we got told our lives should be? Letting go of all that ladies’-man, shut off, lone wolf crap that Dad thought made a man? It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do.” He cleared his throat, knowing there was a good chance Dean would retreat with his next sentence, but he had to get to it sometime. The real reason they were standing in a parking garage at 7 in the morning with the ghost of John Winchester sitting in the front seat. “I had to get okay with liking guys too, you know.” 

The whole place seemed to go deathly silent. Dean absolutely refused to move a muscle. When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff and quiet. “That was different, Sammy, you weren’t...”

“I wasn’t what?” Sam’s voice had an edge to it; his mind filled in the blank with ‘a guy.’

Dean winced. “Damn it, that’s not what I mean.” 

“Then what do you mean?”

Dean took another second to choose his words carefully. “People have always expected you to be into guys, Sam. Right or wrong. When they thought you were a chick, and then when they didn’t get the trans thing, they just assumed. But me…”

“Just because I was queer doesn’t mean you couldn’t-”

“You know how people talk about queers when they’re around straight dudes?” 

“Yeah.” Sam had been in that conversation a few times. But he couldn’t imagine how many times Dean had been through it. Through all of the pestering and confusion and downright hate that lots of people gave him after he came out, they knew he was a freak. No, he scolded himself, not a freak. They knew he was... different. They’d looked at Dean like he was the straight man to his funny guy act. For clarification. For a lifeline back to the straight world they understood. Even their Dad did. 

Dean pretended to fit in. For his own protection, and then for Sam’s. For John’s.

“Yo, Fabio, stay with me here,” Dean waved a hand in front of his face with a weak attempt at humor. His hand was shaking.

Sam blinked. “It’s harder for you. I know.” 

Dean squeezed his hands into fists. He looked so small, crumpled up against the side of the car, all tucked in on himself. “I can’t...”

“Dean,” Sam revved himself up for a killer pep talk. Dean had been through so much over his life, there was nothing he couldn’t do. “You’ve been to hell and back. You’ve laughed in the face of the actual Devil. You-”

“What if I’m disappointing Dad?” Dean grimaced the second he said it, Sam could practically feel his embarrassment, could hear the scared kid in his voice.

“Dean-” Sam started gently.

“I know it’s stupid.” 

“No, no it’s not. I mean, you were always so close with Dad.” Sam tried not to sound wistful.

Dean smiled wanly. “He wasn’t ever... soft on me like he was on you. Never really talked about the mushy stuff... but still. Me and him, we always got each other, you know? He… wouldn’t get this.”

He wrinkled his eyebrows. “So what?” Dean scoffed. “No Dean. really. Dad is dead. And you and I, we have done things and made choices that Dad would have hated. Things Dad always said were stupid and reckless, that all of his buddies would have laughed at. And we also saved the world.” But then Sam thought back to the moment, after he came out, when he realized that his relationship with his dad would never be the same. It was like a punch to the gut. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder softly. “Dean, you can’t control what Dad would think. But I do know that he would be proud of you for being your own man, no matter what he thought.”

Dean was staring at the concrete like he was reading fine print from five feet away. “Would he.”

“Yes,” Sam said firmly. “You’re the best hunter I’ve ever seen, best man I’ve ever known, way better than anybody in Dad’s day. He would be so damn proud.”

“Better than his day,” Dean repeated softly. He seemed to ruminate on that for a minute. Yeah, he thought, he and Sam were better hunters than any of the assholes whose sissy jokes bounced around his skull in his darker moments. Sam was a vegetarian trans dude with his new-age no labels sexuality thing, Cas was a beam of interstellar light inhabiting a man’s body with no concept of the categorization of human sexuality, Claire was totally in love with that Kaia girl, Jody and Donna were practically married in most ways that he didn’t ask about, Charlie had as much enthusiasm for women as he did, and he was… bi? He was bi. They were a freaking pride parade with rock salt and machetes. And better than any of the assholes he’d tried to emulate growing up.

While Dean was wrapped up in his thoughts Sam pulled him into a hug. “I’m proud of you too, you know.”

Dean patted him on the back reluctantly. “Alright, don’t be gay about it,” he muttered, grinning. And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah mining my personal relationships and psyche for fic fodder... therapeutic  
> happy late International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia and Biphobia, everybody, may you all find your pride and peace  
> talk to me pals, we can therapize two ways


	9. The Art of Discourse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> worry turns to anger turns to anger turns to hurt

Cas ran out of the elevator and only slowed when he was approaching the pool. He heard footsteps behind him, but when he looked there was no one there. He hurried ahead, heart pounding. Then he saw Johann appear in the doorway into the pool. He was still in that infernal doorman costume, and just the sight of the ridiculous thing made his blood boil. Dean and Sam could be dead by now, and he had been naive enough to deny the evidence based on his ‘gut instinct.’ How could he have been so stupid?

“Castiel!” A voice from his left. 

He looked over to see Chelsea waving at him from the end of the perpendicular hallway. He was distracted for three seconds and then he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, and then his vision went dark. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Cas?” Dean started to run the second he saw the crumpled figure in Lucy’s arms. Sam was right behind him. “Cas!” He dropped to the ground and held Cas’s face in his hands, like if he could just make Cas know that he was here it would wake him up. 

“Lucy, what happened?” Sam was slightly more logical in his panic, gripping Lucy’s arm tightly. She shrugged it away and handed Cas off to Dean so she could not be so close to his soft muttering. 

“I don’t know, I was in the other hall and I heard a… thud, and I just found him like this.” 

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No, no, just- I think I heard somebody running away, but-” She gestured down at Cas, who was starting to move sluggishly. 

“Cas, what the hell happened?” Dean shook him a little, eyes wide. Cas frowned at him, then jerked away. 

“Dean, you’re-” He looked up to see Sam and Lucy. “Sam, you- you’re okay,” 

“Yeah, Cas, of course we are, why wouldn’t we be?” Sam knelt down next to him too now, but Cas scrambled to his feet, frantic. He twisted around, looking for someone who wasn’t there.

“Johann said-” 

“The doorman?” 

“Yes, he slipped a note under my door; he wanted to meet-” Cas stopped, panting, as he thought. 

“You were meeting Johann? By yourself?” Dean demanded. “What kind of a dumbass are you, Cas?” 

Cas set his shoulders and looked at him. “And where were you?” 

“I was…” Dean cleared his throat, the kiss from last night replaying in his head for a second. And the moment of panic he had when he woke up half-naked in bed with his best friend. The moment of insanity when he'd taken his clothes and run away. “It doesn’t matter where I was! Stop being so stupid!” 

A fire lighted in Cas’s eyes. “I thought you were in danger when you were just avoiding me.?” He clenched his fists and glared at Dean. “You just disappear without a word and I’m the stupid one?” 

“Yes, dumbass! You can’t just run off by yourself and confront the fucking monster-” 

“At least I’m not afraid of confronting someone.” 

That stopped Dean flat. The words he’d been about to say were snatched out of his mouth and his mouth just hung open, useless. That was everything his head had been screaming at him for months, years even. Cas stared back, stone cold.

Dean saw Sam reaching toward him in his peripheral. “Guys-” Dean grabbed his hand before it could reach him, looking at his brother. 

“You got this, obviously,” he spit out, gesturing to the angel beside him. He tossed Sam’s hand aside with more force than was ever necessary and stormed away.

“Dean!” Sam called after him but he knew it was useless. Dean was too volatile right now, everything was too close to the surface, and when he got like that, he’d rather run away than let anyone close to it. He sighed and looked back at Cas. He was staring after Dean with a wounded expression. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”


	10. Aerodynamics of Gender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a flashback chapter of how Sam came out as trans

Sam planned to come out when Dean was in a really good mood. Maybe when Dad had gone a while without getting trashed and they were in a town with more than three restaurants and maybe after he’d gotten laid. 

It did not happen like that.

Sam was fourteen and making out with a boy for the first time. His name was Josh and he had really pretty green eyes and he smelled like weed and he read all the time and he was 15, a high schooler. Sam thought he was a genius. He really enjoyed making out with him too, until Josh started to snake his hand up Sam’s shirt. Sam tried to keep it casual, just pushed his hand away, which was fine until a minute later when he tried to put his hand under Sam’s waistband. 

Sam practically jumped off the couch. He was wearing boxers he’d stolen from Dean, which was absolutely unexplainable, and the thought of Josh touching him anywhere below the waist made him want to crawl out of his skin onto another plane of existence. Josh was confused as hell. Sam was vaguely aware of him talking, but given all his other senses were saying he was dying, he ignored it. In fact, he ran out of Josh's reach and didn’t stop until he was two blocks away. His whole body was drenched in sweat and he couldn’t breathe.

Panic Attack. He was gonna throw up. Or just keel over. But he was very sure that one of the two would happen in the next thirty seconds. Or the next, or the next. There was a payphone across the street; Sam ran to it and shakily shoved quarters into the slot. He dragged the motel card out of his wallet and waited. Dean picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Dean?”

“Sammy, aren’t you supposed to be on a hot date right-”

“Dean I need you to come pick me up.” Even getting the words out was hard, he could barely get the breath for it. 

“Are you okay?” Dean was instantly on high alert.

“Yeah, yeah, the movie just ended.” If he was part of a normal family, he could’ve said no. I'm definitely not okay. But to Winchesters, ‘okay’ meant no life-threatening open wounds. So yeah, he was okay. No need to worry Dean over a little mental breakdown. 

Dean screeched the Impala to a halt in front of the phone booth ten minutes later. Sam had stopped feeling like he was gonna throw up or die, which was a plus. The sweat covering his body was cooling in the fall air and making him shiver, which covered up how much he was shaking.

That might be why Dean didn’t immediately notice his clammy sick appearance. Sam had hardly shut the door before he started playing “Night Moves” while cackling to himself. Dean had had to suffer through John playing it whenever he saw him with girls, so he was just passing on the torch. The second Dean glanced over at Sam he turned the music off. 

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Sam had to push another bout of panic rising up from his throat. “I’m- nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Did the date go that bad?” Sam hesitated and Dean stomped on the brakes. “Did that Josh kid touch you?”

“No! I mean,” Sam shook his head. “He didn’t do anything wrong,”

Dean started driving again, cautiously. “So what the hell went so bad that you’re freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. You can’t lie to me. You know I wiped your butt, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You never let me forget.” Dean’s familiar heckling calmed him down; now he was just shaking profusely. 

“Okay, so cut the shit. What’s up?”

“I’m gonna tell you a lot of things and you just gotta keep driving and listen, okay?” Something in him switched and he knew he was gonna do it this time. He was finally gonna say it.

Dean had the decency to look freaked out too. “Okay…” He turned out of town toward the fields and the backroads.

“It’s weird.”

“For god’s sake Sam, spit it out.” Dean got irritated when he was scared.

Sam kept his eyes fixed firmly out the window at the bean fields. “I, um, something’s different about me, Dean.” he could feel his voice wavering and he hated it.

“Yeah, well, I’ve known that for-”

“Dean I feel like a guy.” He said it as fast as humanly possible. There was a long pause.

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t… I don’t fit in with the other girls. Not that-I like them, okay, I just… I don’t feel like one of them. I feel more like-like you or Dad or Bobby. And I…” How was he supposed to explain it? “My body feels wrong. Just… weird. Bad weird.”

Dean was too surprised to make a dick joke. In fact, it was one of the few times he was speechless.

Sam looked up at him nervously. He was concentrating on the road, eyebrows furrowed, the only real movement his fingers tapping against the wheel. “Dean, please say something.”

Dean tilted his head. “I don’t know what the fuck to say. What is that? Is that a... Is that a thing?” Dean wasn’t naive to most world matters, but the only thing remotely close to this was what he’d seen in porn. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve done-”

“Let me guess, you’ve done research,” Dean grinned and looked at Sam. Sam smiled back.

“I have. It’s… Other people, people like me exist.” 

Dean nodded slowly, processing the information. “Okay so… what, uh… what do ya wanna do with that exactly?”

“Uh…” Sam was pretty sure it was gonna sound crazy. “I mean, I don’t exactly have access to a lot of resources or anything, but… there are… treatments?”

“Like, to cure you?”

“It’s who I am, Dean, not a disease.” Dean held up his hand in apology. “Treatments to, like, make me look more like… a guy.” He could see Dean’s brain working overtime, but he didn’t say anything. “And there are surgeries.”

That got an eyebrow raise. “Surgeries?”

“Yeah, to, you know-” he just about finished the sentence with the same ‘to look like a guy’. 

“You wanna chop your boobs off?”

Sam blinked. He was used to Dean being blunt, even about stuff like his boobs and periods and bras and shit, but it still made him a little uncomfortable. He was quiet for a beat too long.

“Did I… did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just, the uh… that’s why I needed you to pick me up. Josh and I were kissing and he tried to feel me up and I freaked.”

Dean was not good at hiding his smile. “When you say freaked, you mean…?”

“I literally ran away from him and his house to the nearest payphone. I was hyperventilating for like ten minutes.”

Dean laughed at him. “Shit, Sam, you’re really gonna have a good day at school on Monday.” Sam smiled in spite of himself.

“Okay, thank you thank you, can you stop being an asshole for one second?”

“Sorry, fuck! Well, I can’t really relate, at all, because having boobs sounds like a helluva time to me, but, uh… I mean, you can strap that shit down, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I can.” Sam smiled for real this time. Somehow Dean was still just… being Dean. “What am I gonna tell Josh?”

“Oh, you’re never fixing that one, we just hope to god Dad wraps his hunt up fast and we get the hell out of dodge before you’re a total pariah. No, what we gotta start workshopping is how we’re gonna tell Dad.” And he reached over and turned Night Moves all the way up again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And just like that, Sam wasn’t alone in it. Sure, Dean took some time to ask all his weird-ass invasive questions that Sam actually answered. It definitely took some time trying out different binding strategies that wouldn’t crush Sam’s ribs or impair his breathing that much (“You still need to be able to run away from the monsters, that’s non-negotiable!”). But with Dean’s help (they eventually got past it being awkward as hell, mostly due to Dean constantly calling Sam’s chest ‘moobs’ when he had to give him first aid after hunts and insisting that he patched their Dad up shirtless plenty of times) Sam finally got to where he looked how he wanted, for the most part. 

Telling their Dad didn’t go terribly. Well, the first round went terribly: John had just plainly called Sam a confused girl and also somehow blamed Dean. It was the first time he remembered Dean yelling back at John actually. The second and third rounds of the discussion went better. John threw out a few “sons,” he started to have conversations with other hunters about “his boys,” and he fudged Sam’s school records so he wouldn’t be outed at every school. He still kept up that icy emotionally distant dictator role Sam was so familiar with, but it was a start.

Bobby got a rundown from both Dean and John so that next time John dropped them off at Bobby’s he just peppered in grumpy “boy!”s at Sam every chance he got, no talk needed.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from an episode of Community, so all the chapters are also gonna be named by episodes of Community, and let me tell you there are some ringers. This is gonna be a long-form slow burn mix of antics and monster plot, a few of my favorite tropes, and some heavy although ultimately optimistic emotional processing. Also getting lots of flashbacks to the Winchesters' fucked up childhoods, because why not?  
> I'm really excited about this story honestly, welcome to the ride


End file.
